


Zephyr [Book IV]

by deltachye



Series: Tales of the Wind [4]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drabble Collection, F/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reader-Insert, Romance, Romantic Angst, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-16 22:09:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8119255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltachye/pseuds/deltachye
Summary: [reader x haymitch abernathy, age 16-17] [book IV/IV of "Tales of the Wind"]...and soft. The wind dies down and it is almost as if it was never there; after all, could you prove it had ever existed when it has no tangibility? When warm zephyrs blow over him, all he can think about is the time before the storm. And he drinks to the feeling of air on his pallid skin.





	1. I - Coming of Age

* * *

 

“You did it, Mitchy, you did it…”

“We get to live in the big houses now, right?”

“Yeah,” he replied, the smile on his face not forced for the first time in a long time. You stood next to him, also smiling softly. His father looked at him wearily.

“You’re a man, now,” he said. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, dry humour etched on your lips.

“Welcome to the real world,” you said in a Capitol accent, lacking the warmth his family was giving him. He didn’t mind, because he felt just as cold.


	2. II - Adulthood

His victory in the games had apparently been the equivalent of entering adulthood, according to those around him. Even the guys in the older grades who were taller and stronger looked to him as if he were a god. In some ways, he might’ve been; a miracle kid who used the force field as his weapon. 

“Sucks, don’t it,” you said wistfully as a couple of boys ran away from him fearfully.

He sighed in response, clutching your hand tightly.


	3. III - Re-Learning

“That’s how you spell knife! With a K at the front!”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Haymitch had forgotten about the silent K, and his brother was showcasing all that he had learnt at school. You joined them at the dinner table, not wanting to be alone in your own mansion with the Abernathys were right next door. 

“Why isn’t it kuh-nife then?” you asked his brother, twisting the ring on your left hand. 

“Beats me. Go ask the dummy who thought of it.”

His brother laughed with you and he realized; he and you were relearning how to live, together.


	4. IV - Youth

“I don’t ever want kids,” you had decided one night, pulling his shirt over your bare body. “I can’t bear to think about them going through what we have.”

“Yeah,” he agreed gently. He looked at your face, still so young, if not for the gaunt lines and scars marring the flesh. He didn’t think he’d ever end up having a kid, either, but you and he were still young, and there was time. Nothing but peace lay ahead.

“Mitch?” you asked, concerned with his silence. You ran a hand along the scar of his abdomen. 

“Nothing.”


	5. V - Hope

“I think I can walk a little further today,” Haymitch said confidently. You blinked at him.

“Really?! That’s great! Usually you’ve gotta rest when we get to the fence.” You looked up at him and grinned. The air was warm and he smiled back.

“I guess there’s hope after all,” he mumbled, not meaning for you to hear. You seemed to understand and squeezed his arm again, resting your head against him as the two of you hobbled forwards, not looking back.


	6. VI - Mending

“What is that?” Haymitch asked you, as you sipped at a drink. You looked at him before chuckling slightly, holding it up for him to see.

“Water.”

He took it from you and sipped, confirming. He gave it back to you sheepishly.

“Sorry, I was just…”

“It’s okay.” You smiled to him. “It just means you’re worried about me. Right, Mitchy?”

He didn’t know how you could be so loving and smug at the same time.


	7. VII - Snowfall

“It’s snowing!”

He walked up the window and wiped off the fog with his sleeve, peering outside into the bright snow. The blanket was fresh without a single footprint. You stared outside with awe, your gaze turned up to the sky with joy instead of despair. 

“You know we’ll have to shovel it, probably.”

“Ugh, Mitch, stop ruining everything.”


	8. VIII - Night Terrors

“Shh,” he’d whisper. “It’s okay now. There’s nothing there.”  
   
“Shh,” you’d whisper. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”  
   
It went back and forth, the both of you clutching each other tightly, afraid to close your eyes. So instead you would stare into the other’s, finding whatever peace and security you needed, hands intertwined as the night terrors loomed overhead.


	9. IX - Codependence

“I need you,” you mumbled into the nape of his neck. Your hands curled into his hair and his were pressed into your shoulders, feeling the lengthy scar that had come with the wolf bite. He said nothing, breathing heavily, but it was mutually understood that the both of you needed each other. If he lost you, he’d lose what little sanity he had left… and if you lost him, he doubted you’d still be alive.  
   
So you two depended on each other, and it was fine by him.


	10. X - Solitude

Sometimes you’d decline his presence.

“Go with your family. They’re waiting for you.”

“And what about you?” he’d ask, “you’re family too.”

You’d smile but shake your head, turning your gaze back out the window. “I want to be alone, right now. Sorry.”

He worried about you in solitude; worried about what you might do. Every time you had come out of it, but each time you asked to be alone, he worried.


	11. XI - Darkness

His dreams would sometimes consist of nothing but darkness. Stifling, overpowering darkness. It was nothing at all like the arena, where things were bright and sickeningly cheerful; his dreams would be nothing but him suffocating.

“Mitch. Mitch, wake up! You’re okay, you’re here with me…”

He’d breathe haltingly in choking gasps as if he’d forgotten how, but your words would soothe him. After these dreams he always felt as if he might cry…

Because it had felt so good to be dead.


	12. XII - Fear

“Mitch?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m… I think…”

“What?”

“…my period’s late.”

The fear struck him under the belt and he stared at you, the same terror reflected in your eyes, even more so than when you had been selected to go and be a tribute in death games. Even more so when his own name had been called.

“You’re overthinking it. Right?”

A grim shake of the head.

Silent fear took hold.


	13. XIII - Uncertainty

“I mean… we could always…”

“No,” he snapped. “I couldn’t. We couldn’t!”

You reached across the table and grasped his hand tightly. “Are you sure?’ you asked, wide eyed. He let go of one and ran it through his hair messily, shakily.

“No,” he admitted, and the two of you held each other silently.


	14. XIV - Plans

“So if we clear out this room, we should have enough for the baby, right?”

“Yeah…”

“And your mom’s okay to help take care of him…”

“Him?” he asked, startled out of his bored daze.

“Well, I’m just guessing… I just feel like it’ll be a he.”

“You’re planning far,” he said, a little strained, taking your hand in his. You smiled brightly before the grin faded.

“It’s better to be prepared,” you said quietly, mimicking the words you had told him before he had went off into the 50th Hunger Games.


	15. XV - Pendulum

The grandfather clock, as it was called, had a pendulum that swung. He didn’t know why his mother kept it, as frankly, it was quite obnoxious, but he found it calming to watch the pendulum swing. Back and forth, back and forth…

His mother had called it pregnancy hormones, but your mood was even less stable than it had been before. Up and down, back and forth…

At the very least, you were still moving, and the pendulum was as well. He would hate to see the day when it stopped entirely.


	16. XVI - Mosquito Bites

“I hate mosquitos,” you scowled, slapping your arm. He laughed at the expression on your face. “What?” you snapped, turning on him.

“You look way too pissed off over bugs.”

“What do you mean?! They’re tiny brats that go around suckin’ blood for no damn good reason…”

He laughed again and you pouted, placing a hand over your barely swollen belly and swatting at him with the other.

“You’re a mosquito too! Always damn annoying!”


	17. XVII - Special Packages

“What’s this?” you asked, picking up a neatly folded package from the table. He shrugged.

“My mom said they just left it there.”

“It’s nice,” you said with admiration. “Who’s it from?”

“Dunno.”

His mom called you into the kitchen and you left. When you did, he turned the package over, his heart dropping at the signature Capitol seal. The rose. Promptly, he tossed it into the fireplace without a second glance, images of that girl from District 1 flashing into his head. 

“What was it?” you asked, coming back while wiping your hands.

“Nothing special.”


	18. XVIII - Life

“Mitch!” you screamed. His heart kicked into overdrive and he got up, nearly falling on himself to get to you.

“What is it?” he gasped, out of breath. You looked at him, eyes wide… with awe.

“Feel,” you whispered, pointing to your stomach. Annoyed and tired, he almost wanted to leave, but did as you asked. Immediately he flinched away.

“They’re alive,” you said with wonder, not quite believing it yourself. “They’re really… alive.”

He placed his hand back on your stomach and had the most ugly, happy grin of a lifetime when his child kicked again.


	19. XIX - Giving Up

With the pregnancy, your emotions came in extremes only. You would cry out of joy and then sheer depression. You would be ecstatic at the smallest thing and then it’d flip and you’d sulk for days over something trivial. In your lows, you said things that you didn’t mean, but it scared him all the same.

“Maybe I should give up. I’m not fit to be a mother.”

“No,” he’d say, “don’t you ever give up. Not now. Not after making it this far.”

“That’s exactly _why_ I should give up.”

He turned around and saw that you’d already left.


	20. XX - Holding On

“I found you!” he gasped, out of breath from the sprint. You turned, mildly surprised to see him.

“You okay?” you asked, as if you hadn’t been the cause of his worry. He scowled at you and then looked up at the great oak tree, its leaves still bright green.

“I needed a minute to think, but you’re right. I’ll hold on for you. For us.” You smiled at him gently before breaking out into laughter. He scowled.

“What?” he demanded.

“I just think you look stupid, that’s all.”

Fine by him. He took your hand and held it tightly.


	21. XXI - Regression

“It’s called regression,” the doctor said quietly. “Your nightmares and such are also a manifestation of PTSD… I’m sure you know what that means?”

“Of course,” he spat. He’d seen enough traumatic stress to last him a million lifetimes.

“I’m sorry to say, but there’s no real cure...” Haymitch had already drowned out the old man at this point, looking out the window as you walked with his little brother, holding his hand. 

“It’s not healthy,” the doctor warned, but Haymitch had already gotten up to make his way outside to the two of you.


	22. XXII - Regret

“You should not have gone against the system.”

“I didn’t _mean_ to,” Haymitch pleaded in a hoarse voice. “I was just trying to survive. Isn’t that the entire goal of these shitshows?! _Survive_?”

“No,” the Capitol official said, his grotesquely long eyelashes fluttering. “It isn’t.”

Of course he felt regret for what he did, but he regretted everything. He regretted being born, and he regretted being alive for this long; he could never regret meeting you, but sometimes he regretted knowing you at all.


	23. XXIII - The Smell of Blood

He knew it well, he did. The smell of blood. Like rust and death and agony all at once in a hopelessly sweet scent; it stung his nose, permeating the air, the second he opened the door. He gagged and turned, clamping a hand over his mouth as his own blood began to race ‘round and ‘round his body.

He knew fear. He knew being afraid, the difference between being scared and being frightened.

And now he knew being absolutely terrified.


	24. XXIV - Succumb

He had told himself that he shouldn’t drink. After the bodies were all hauled off to be burned, he knew what he would turn into if he began to drink. But damn it all, because the person who had taught him what would happen was dead.

All dead. You, and his mother, his father, and his brother… his kid.

Dead.

So he drank, because fuck it. What else did he have to lose? His own life?

That’d be a win for him.


	25. XXV - Dysfunctional

“I never got to say… I love you… to any of them. Fuck it all, it happened too fast.”

“I know, kid. Now come on, get in your damn bed.”

He didn’t even know who was trying to take care of him today. Some of the family friends came by, some of the townsfolk; they probably pitied him, but he couldn’t care. He couldn’t feel. 

He preferred being drunk and dysfunctional to being sober and 100%. And, he finally understood why you had chosen the same. 

Now you were dead and detached, so really, you had one-upped him still.


	26. XXVI - Red Ribbon

There was a red ribbon you had kept tied around the banister for no particular reason, other than you had just decided to put it there. It had been a pure thought—a mere spur of the moment action. He hadn’t had the heart to move it, but whiskey made him angry, and he tore it to shreds, screaming.  
   
He blamed you, he blamed himself, he blamed the Capitol; he blamed everything. The ribbon fell to the floor along with splatters of his own red blood, but it could not rival what your blood had looked like. He’d seen.


	27. XXVII - Broken Glass

Broken glass had become the new décor. It lined the floor, the shelves. Sometimes when he felt like it, he took the glassware the Capitol had provided and threw it against the wall, watching glittery shards spray everywhere with the resounding crash. It reminded him of the fireworks he had watched with you on that rooftop, and even more frustrated, he crushed the glass in his hand, relishing the feeling of fresh blood and pain.


	28. XXVIII - Blind Anger

“Why?!” he screamed, over and over until his throat was red and raw. “Why!? Why the fuck would you do that to me when you’ve already fucked me so many times before!? Why?!” He’d yell it to the sky, to God—he’d kick over TVs and yell it so that the people in the Capitol could hear it. Feel it. His pain; his sorrow; his anger. His unshakable, poisonous anger. 

The anger soon boiled down to sadness and then, soon after with a few shots of gin, numbness. Because he already knew why.

 _They_ wanted to see him suffer.


	29. XXIX - Acceptance

After destroying his entire house, he had relocated to one of the other ones, reserved for some other misfortunate victor. In this house there were no traces of his family, his past life, or you. He drank slowly this time, allowing the alcohol to seep through his veins. He stared out the window as a light breeze tousled the leaves of a tree and sighed. You would never sit with him again; never be near him again. He’d never hold your hand or touch your face.  
   
All he could do now was to accept the fact.  
   
 


	30. XXX - Calm.

“Haymitch!” Greasy Sae said, surprised to see him. “Haven’t seen you up and about since… well…”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Listen, you got any more?”

“‘course, but… kid, you sure you okay?”

“No.”

“You seem awfully calm for somebody who isn’t okay.”

He smiled ruefully, which only seemed to disturb her more. 

“What else is there to be except for calm?”

A warm zephyr tousled his hair, feeling so much like your fingers, and he closed his eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Greasy Sae muttered.

“Me, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Elsewhere: https://goo.gl/BT4zgE


End file.
